“Such a narrow escape, boys!” the mother declared sympathetically. “Won’t you sit awhile and eat something with us?”
Frank answered courteously, “Thanks a lot, Mrs. Wynn. But we want to make the animal auction in town before it closes.”
The boys said good-by to the friendly family and resumed their trip. Fifteen minutes later they passed a large sign:
ANIMAL AUCTION
Just Ahead on the Right
In a moment Frank had pulled into a parking area next to several red buildings and pens. The trio jumped from the car and entered a high building with ramps of seats rising steeply to the roof. Men in working clothes occupied the seats, and from a platform at one end of the building a skinny man in vest and shirt sleeves was speaking in a loud, ringing voice.
The auctioneer was showing his audience the good points of a young work horse. Next, the assistant led out a brown-and-white heifer.
“These are the larger animals,” Frank observed. “The dogs must be in another building.”
Frank, Joe, and Chet made their way to the door. Suddenly Joe clutched his brother’s arm. Without speaking, he pointed up into the tiers of seats. Among the farmers and stockmen sat a tall man with alert, piercing eyes and a full mustache. He wore a wide-brimmed hat, and a well-cut sports jacket.
“Don’t you recognize him?” Joe insisted.
For a moment, all three boys stared up at the tall, commanding figure. Suddenly the man’s sharp eyes encountered their own. Feeling that they had embarrassed the man by staring at him, the boys went outside.
“That was Colonel Thunder, the puma trainer at Klatch’s Carnival!” declared Joe. “What’s he doing at an auction of domestic animals?”
“Search me,” Chet answered. “Let’s try here!”
He led the way into a long, low building filled with assorted sounds. Chickens cackled, dogs barked, pigs squealed, goats and lambs bleated. The long-eared rabbits hopped about in cages, watching the commotion with twitching noses.
The dogs, mostly working and hunting breeds, were at the end of the room. Chet passed the collies and shepherds that might be used for herding, and headed for the hounds, with their long ears and soft, expressive eyes.
“Always wanted a good hound dog!” he said enthusiastically. “Let’s see. What shall we get? Coon hound? No—too big. Bloodhound? Too gloomy. Basset? Too fat, and its legs are too short.”
“Look who’s talking,” Joe teased.
But Chet was too busy to hear. “Say, will you look at that, fellows?” He pointed.
In one corner stood a boy about eleven years old. Six fat, half-grown puppies were scrambling around his legs.
“Beagles,” Chet commented, indicating the broad backs, short legs, and pointed tails.
Suddenly one of the pups bounded across the floor and began to nuzzle Chet’s trouser leg. As the boy bent down, the beagle’s long red tongue licked his hand frantically.
“This has to be the one,” Chet declared happily, lifting the pup in his arms. “Come here, little fellow!”
“We’ll take him,” said Frank to the young owner. “How much?”
“Five dollars,” the boy replied.
“Sold,” agreed Frank, and took out his wallet.
As he selected a bill, his attention was distracted by his brother, who quietly touched his elbow. With a nod, Joe indicated a transaction taking place a few stalls away. The man they had seen in the other building, Colonel Thunder, seemed to be buying a sheep.
“Friend of yours?” asked the boy with the pups.
“No. We’ve just seen him some place before.”
“Well, he’s gettin’ cheated.” The boy snickered. “That sheep’s so old it can hardly stand on its legs. Why would anybody buy a critter like that?”
“Just what I’m wondering,” Joe murmured, as the boys walked out with their puppy. “Why does Colonel Thunder need a sheep? To feed his pumas?”
Once in the car, the little beagle began to tremble violently. “He’ll be all right,” Chet assured them. “Just the first time he’s been away from his brothers and sisters.” Kindhearted Chet allowed the new pet to snuggle up inside his sweater.
As Frank started the car he said, “I want to get back to the cabin. There’s just a chance Captain Maguire may have returned.”
They had traveled a few miles over the bumpy road when Frank suddenly stopped the car and exclaimed in annoyance. “What’s the matter with me? We can’t go back this way! The bridge is out!”
“We’ll have to find another route to Black Hollow,” Joe said.
After turning around in a farm lane, Frank consulted the road map for a few minutes. Then he headed back toward the auction. At the next town the boys stopped to eat. As they set off again, the roads improved. It was now about seven o.’clock. The sun was still high, but the air was pleasantly cool. Traffic became increasingly heavy. Many cars were filled with entire families, all going in the same direction.
“I wonder where these people are headed,” mused Joe. “Most of them are dressed up.”
“There’s your answer,” returned his brother.
Just ahead of them beside the highway appeared a familiar line of tents. Soon the wind brought the sound of loud-speakers to their ears. “Klatch’s Carnival has a new location,” Frank observed.
“Good! Let’s stop in,” Chet proposed. “I could use some peanuts and popcorn!”
Frank looked sternly at their chunky friend from one side. Joe looked sternly at him from the other. “Aw, I was kidding, fellows,” he said. “What I really want is to see that puma act again!”
“Well, that’s better,” Frank admitted. “I’d like to see it again myself.”
After parking, the three friends made their way to Colonel Thunder’s show tent. Chet carried the now-contented puppy inside his sweater. “I just thought of something,” he said. “Do you suppose the colonel will be here? We just saw him at the auction.”
“Don’t worry,” Joe answered. “He had time to get here while we were driving in the wrong direction.”
Sure enough, the colonel’s amazing act was already in progress when the trio entered. The tall trainer, wearing the same white outfit, managed the dangerous cats with the same daring disregard for the puma that remained always directly behind his back. This time, however, the performance went off without a hitch.
As the rest of the crowd climbed down from the bleachers and filed out, Joe pushed forward to the cage for a closer look at the pumas. They were sleek beasts—young, strong, and well fed.
At this same moment Colonel Thunder emerged from the cage through a small door right next to Joe.
“Some animals you have there,” Joe remarked to the man. “What kind of food do you give them to eat?”
“Raw meat that we get from local butchers,” the colonel replied. He spoke politely, but his manner was distant, and he walked away immediately.
“But we saw him buying that sheep at the auction!” Joe protested as the boys drove homeward. “If it was to feed his pumas, why didn’t he mention it?”
When Frank pulled up to the cabin it was almost nine o’clock. The sun was gone and the woods were dark, but overhead the sky remained luminous in the afterglow.
The boys, half hopeful that their host had returned, entered the cabin. But the place was silent. Frank’s note lay undisturbed on the kitchen table. Captain Maguire had not returned.
“Where is he?” Joe burst out. “We must find him—and soon.”
Suddenly Frank held up his hand. “Listen. Outside—a car!”
The boys ran to the porch. In the clearing an automobile’s parking lights gleamed. A plump little man in a business suit got out, slammed the car door, and walked rapidly toward them.
“Where’s Maguire?” he demanded in an irritable voice that matched his rather dour face.
“Not here just now,” Frank answered noncommittally.
“Not here! Where is he, then? He owes me some money!”
“Webber—Wyckoff Webber—He knows. I’m an attorney in Forestburg.”
“An attorney?” Joe spoke up. “Maybe you can tell us about Black Hollow, Mr. Webber. It belongs to the Donners, doesn’t it?”
“Yes. They used to have a summer cottage in it, but the place burned down. Haven’t seen a Donner around here since.”
“What do you make of the witch story?” Frank asked.
For a second the lawyer’s eyes shifted away before he replied, “A lot of nonsense. The hollow has peculiar reverberating qualities. Somebody screaming miles away could be heard here, and clearly, too.”
“I see. Well, we’ll give Captain Maguire your message, Mr. Webber.”
As the lawyer’s car pulled away, Joe observed, “There’s one fellow I wouldn’t trust for two minutes.”
Chet now hurried to give their pet some milk and meat scraps. As the little dog ate hungrily, Frank said, “I’m going to test out what Webber told us. Sounded phony to me. I’ll drive around to the opposite rim and yell. The wind is blowing in this direction. You fellows stay here and listen. When I get there I’ll blink the car’s headlights.”
Frank drove off to circle around to the far side of Black Hollow.
CHAPTER VII
The Hermit
JOE and Chet walked to the edge of Black Hollow. Darkness descended. Presently a short beam of light could be seen traveling rapidly along the opposite rim, almost two miles away.
“Must be Frank,” Joe murmured as he raised his binoculars. For a moment the beam disappeared. Then the boys saw two bright lights blink on and off.
“Frank has turned the car to face us,” said Joe.
Chet and Joe held their breaths, listening intently. A fresh breeze blew against their faces from the direction of the automobile lights, but no sound reached them. In a moment the lights were gone and the beam could be seen traveling again. Frank was on his way back.
When he reached the cabin Frank said, “I screamed my lungs out. I blew the car horn, too.”
“Didn’t hear a thing,” Joe told him as the boys re-entered the cabin. The gasoline lanterns were lighted, and Chet prepared supper.
Frank rested his elbows on the table, frowning. “The hollow doesn’t have any echoes to speak of,” he noted, “so Webber was lying. Why?”
“Sure,” said Joe. “He has lived around here long enough to know the truth. What’s he hiding? Is he covering up for somebody?”
“He didn’t seem to know that Captain Maguire is missing,” Chet put in.
“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” Joe cautioned. “He may have come around just to find out how much we know.”
Frank agreed. “There’s something more than witchery going on here. Things look bad for Captain Maguire. We must press the hunt for him tomorrow!”
Hoping to make an early start next day, the boys decided not to expose the puppy to the dog thief and stay on watch, but to get some sleep.
Sleep would not come, however, except in fitful dozes. Each boy found himself waiting, listening for the terrible scream that had roused them the night before.
About midnight, Joe whispered suddenly, “Hush!”
A new sound floated up from the depths of Black Hollow—a long, screeching sound.
“Creepers!” Chet quavered. “Last night the witch screamed. Tonight she’s screeching. What next?”
Meanwhile, the little puppy had begun to whine and tremble.
Suddenly Joe began to laugh.
“I don’t see what’s so funny,” Chet said crossly. “Our poor puppy is shaking all over!”
“Of course he is.” Joe laughed. “He hears his natural enemy. Witch, my eye. That screeching, my friends, is nothing but the screech of an owl!”
“Owl?” repeated Chet. “A screech owl?”
“No. A screech owl wails, Chet,” Joe replied. “It’s the barn owl that screeches.”
Chet sat up in his bunk. “You mean that what we heard tonight was nothing but a barn owl!”
Joe nodded. “It must have been. And barn owls have been associated with witches and ghosts for centuries. But that screaming last night definitely did not come from any barn owl.”
“And furthermore,” said Frank, “barn owls don’t steal dogs. Well, let’s get some sleep before the sun comes up. We’ll just have to get used to these weird sounds.”
“Owl or no owl,” Chet put in, “it gives me the willies!”
A gray, misty dawn the next morning found the boys already up and about. After breakfast, while Chet made sandwiches to take on the search, Frank and Joe walked out to Rim Road to look for Sheriff Ecker’s party.
In an hour a bright sun had burned the mist away, but no searchers had arrived. “All right,” said Frank. “We’re on our own. We’ll go down and call on this Mr. Donner first.”
The door of the cabin opened, and the little beagle rushed out, only to be brought to a tumbling halt by a piece of clothesline attached to his collar. Chet held the other end in his hand.
“Whoa there, Mystery!” called the stout boy, who carried a knapsack on his back.
“Mystery!” repeated Joe. “That his name?”
“Yes, because he’s the little feller that’s goin’ to help us solve this mystery.”
Once more, the three boys descended the steep path to the floor of the hollow. Around them the woods preserved their eerie silence. Even the puppy showed no desire to range about.
Suddenly Frank called a halt. “It’s the same as yesterday,” he said in a low, perplexed voice. “I’m sure we’re being followed!”
The three listened, hardly breathing. But there was nothing to be heard or seen. “All right. Let’s go!” Frank signaled finally.
Almost before they knew it, the boys had reached the queer, windowless cabin. Frank stepped forward and rapped sharply on the door.
Immediately it was pulled inward. A tall, broad-shouldered man with heavy brows, a full mustache, and piercing eyes confronted them.
“Colonel Thunder!” Joe blurted.
“Colonel?” the man repeated quizzically in a deep, hearty voice. “Take it easy on the rank, there, boy. You couldn’t even call me a buck private, seeing as how I was never in the army!”
“You mean,” faltered Chet, “you’re not Colonel Bill Thunder, the fearless animal trainer?”
The big man gave a booming laugh. “No. Afraid I’m just plain Walter Donner.”
Perplexed, Joe stammered, “Well, Colonel Thun—I mean, Mr. Donner—we’re afraid that something has happened to a friend of ours, Captain Thomas Maguire—he owns a cabin on the other side of the hollow. He disappeared from his cabin at least two nights ago!”
Immediately Mr. Donner’s genial face became serious. “Hmm. Better come in awhile, boys. Just tie the puppy outside there, will you?”
Frank, Joe, and Chet followed their host into a tidy little room furnished with rustic wooden table and chairs. “Leave the door open for the light. Sit down here. I’ll be back in a minute.”
The tall man ducked easily through a low, narrow doorway into the kitchen beyond. The boys could hear pots being moved about, and a door being closed. In a moment Donner was back.
“Now,” he addressed them, “who is Captain Maguire, and what’s happened to him? Let’s get all the details.”
The boys introduced themselves, then Joe explained, “He’s a friend of ours who lives on the edge of the hollow. The captain was expecting us. When we arrived, day before yesterday, there was no sign of him. He’d vanished. We tracked him into the hollow, where we found his flashlight and two shotgun shells that he probably fired.”
“Yes!” Donner broke in. “There was some shooting the other night. At first I thought it was a hunter. But I didn’t hear any dogs, which are used for hunting coon, or anything legal. So I assumed it was somebody poaching deer. As for your friend, I’m sorry. I never heard of him.”
“Well, thanks anyhow, Mr. Donner,” said Frank. “But say—would you know anything about the dogs we understand are disappearing in the neighborhood? We promised to look out for a puppy that’s missing.”
Thoughtfully, the big man frowned. “Very likely a dog thief. You see, there’s a big illegal market on dogs for medical experimentation. I’d like to get my hands on the wretch who steals them,” he added indignantly. “You see, I like animals!”
“We did see something else suspicious, yesterday,” Frank went on. “A strange person spying on us. He looked—well, he seemed half wild.”
“There I can help you,” declared Mr. Donner, raising his finger. “You must mean Simon. He’s a mute boy who lives with his widowed mother over in the next valley. He can hear, but he lost his voice by an injury to his throat, I understand, even before he learned to talk. He runs wild in the hollow all summer. Lives on berries and whatever he can pilfer from nearby farms.”
“Is he dangerous?” Chet asked.
“Mmm—I’d keep away from him. He’d just as soon heave a rock at you as not. You know, it might be Simon who is making off with these dogs. Animals and birds seem to interest him.”
“Brrr,” Chet shuddered. “I don’t see how you stand it here, Mr. Donner. Boys running half wild—the witch shrieking at night.”
At this their host’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Well, young fellow,” he said to Chet with a wink, “intelligence tells me it’s certainly no witch. But I’ll have to admit every time I hear the screams, chills run up and down my spine!”
Frank and Joe, thinking how they had been startled by the owl, grinned also. A soft popping sound was heard from the kitchen.
“There’s my coffee,” Donner announced abruptly. “Come into the kitchen, boys.”
With eager curiosity Frank, Joe, and Chet followed their host through the narrow doorway. They found themselves in a small windowless kitchen lighted by two kerosene lamps. There was a little wood stove for warmth, but Donner cooked on a small gasoline range. In a moment he had whipped up cocoa for them and poured out coffee for himself.
The Clue of the Screeching Owl Page 4
